


Seek and Find

by Amerana



Series: Trial and Error [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Bed-Wetting, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Emotions, Feelings, Flashbacks, Hydra (Marvel), Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Panic, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3577281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amerana/pseuds/Amerana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What time is it?” Bucky asked.</p><p>She checked her watch, “It’s 10:40.”</p><p>He gave a bitter chuckle, “It’s before noon, I got a grand total of 3 hours of sleep last night, and I’ve already had a panic attack bad enough to warrant Steve forcing me to take two of those little white pills.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek and Find

Yawning, Bucky poured himself a cup of coffee. He hadn’t had a great sleep the night before, but he almost never did. Last night, however, he had woken himself (and probably everyone else in the building) up because he had been screaming. He grabbed his cup of coffee and carried it over to the table where Steve sat reading the newspaper. He went to put his mug down on the table and froze. He was holding it in his metal left hand. Bucky as himself was right handed, but the as the asset he was left-handed. 

“You okay Bucky?” Steve asked, looking at him over the newspaper. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the mug and it shattered in his hand. All he could bring himself to do was stare at the metal hand. Why did he pick up the mug with his left hand? He wasn’t left handed, it didn’t make sense, he wasn’t the asset. He didn’t use his left hand if he could avoid it. Of course he knew this line of thought was rather irrelevant but he couldn’t stop it from spiraling out of control. He was so absorbed by his own mind that he hadn’t even noticed Steve get out of his chair and move over to Bucky. “Why don’t you sit down,” Steve said gently, guiding Bucky over to the chair he was standing next to. 

Tightness wrapped around his chest and his heart started pounding. Now that he was sitting down, Steve crouched on the floor in front of him so that he could look Bucky in the eyes, “You’re having a panic attack, okay? Everything is going to be fine,” he was using that voice again, the one that Bucky hated, “Can you focus on your breathing for me, Buck? Try and slow it down.” 

Bucky tried his hardest, but as soon as he got close to breathing normally he would remember what had happened and his breathing would speed up again. He couldn’t breathe, he needed to breathe. Eventually, Steve got up and moved to the cupboards. He pulled out the locked box where Bucky’s medication was kept and unlocked it, grabbing one of the bottles and pouring a glass of water before returning to Bucky. “Can you tell me how bad it is?” Steve asked. Bucky tried to answer but his words caught in his throat and nothing came out. He felt like he was choking on the words, his throat tightening up just as his chest was. 

His lack of a verbal answer was, apparently, enough for Steve who took two pills out of the bottle before closing it and setting it on the table. He held his hand up to Bucky’s mouth, and somehow Bucky managed to open. The pills tasted bitter on his tongue, but soon enough Steve was holding the glass of water up to Bucky’s lips and the pills were washed away. Steve pulled a chair up next to Bucky and sat next to him, “You’re doing great, Buck. Just keep trying to breathe,” Steve said, rubbing circles across Bucky’s back. After what seemed like hours of him hyperventilating and Steve gently offering support, the medication started to work and Bucky was able to get his breathing under control. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked after Bucky had been breathing normally for a while. Bucky thought about it. He felt numb and groggy from the medication, but he wasn’t panicking anymore. Steve had gotten him through the panic, and it reminded Bucky of pre-serum Steve. Bucky used to have to care for him the way Steve had just taken care of him. 

Bucky looked over at Steve and he felt like he was going to cry, “You used to have asthma attacks.” 

Steve was only slightly confused, “Um, yeah, I did,” he nodded. 

“I-I would walk you through them,” Bucky added, “I would take care of you when you had them.” 

“Ah,” Steve said in realization, “Yes you did.” 

“I used to take care of you,” Bucky repeated, “And now I can’t even drink a cup of coffee without having a breakdown.” 

“You know what, Buck? I know exactly how you feel. I used to hate it when you would do things like that for me, but I wouldn’t have made it through if it weren’t for you. You took care of me, and now it’s my turn.” 

“I don’t want to be taken care of,” he said, choking back tears, “I shouldn’t need to be taken care of.” 

“There’s no shame in it, we all have hard times,” Steve said but it didn’t help. Bucky couldn’t hold back his tears anymore, and he started to cry. Steve returned his hand to Bucky’s back, once again rubbing circles. 

Eventually, Bucky got himself under control, “I should clean this up,” he said, only mildly embarrassed that he had just started crying literally over spilled coffee. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said, “I’ll clean it up. You go have a shower and get dressed, then we need to get you to therapy.” 

Bucky did as he was told and before long he was sitting in silence in his therapist’s office, too numb to start some emotional conversation. 

“How’s your day going so far?” Dr Newmark, Bucky’s therapist, asked breaking the silence that had hung in the room since Bucky had walked in for their bi-weekly session. Part of his deal with S.H.I.E.L.D to be allowed to leave the hospital was that he had to meet the therapist twice a week and his psychiatrist once a week. It was the only time that he was allowed to leave the tower and it involved both Steve and an armed guard accompanying him. The guard stood just outside the door and Steve, though he didn’t have to, usually waited in the waiting room. 

“What time is it?” Bucky asked. 

She checked her watch, “It’s 10:40.” 

He gave a bitter chuckle, “It’s before noon, I got a grand total of 3 hours of sleep last night, and I’ve already had a panic attack bad enough to warrant Steve forcing me to take two of those little white pills.” 

She wrote that down in his file, “That’s what, 2 milligrams of Xanax? You must be feeling pretty out of it.” 

Buck nodded. He hated the medication. Of course, it prevented him from having panic attacks and flashbacks, but it also prevented him from thinking clearly. “What happened?” she asked, writing something down in his file. 

“It’s stupid,” he said, brushing it off. 

“We’ve talked about this James. If it’s bad enough that it triggers you to have a flashback or a panic attack then it’s not stupid,” she replied, putting the pen down. 

Bucky sighed. They’d talked about it but it didn’t make him believe it any more. Some of the things that triggered him were miniscule, stupid things and there was no convincing him otherwise. “I picked up a coffee cup with my left hand,” he said. 

“What about that triggered a panic attack?” she asked. 

Bucky hesitated, looking down at his hands, “The left hand, the metal one, it’s the one that I led with when I was the asset. It’s more precise and it has more power.” 

“And you as yourself, you’re right handed?” she asked, eliciting a nod, “Why do you think that using your left hand upset you so much?” 

“Because it made me think that that part of me is always going to be there, right below the surface, ready to take over at any time, he said. That was a big theme in his therapy sessions, his lack of control. 

“That must be a hard thing for you to feel,” she said, “If you had to label those feelings, what would you call them?” She knew he had trouble with emotions, so she brought them up frequently to get him used to them. 

He thought for a moment, “I guess frustrated, afraid, discouraged.” 

She nodded, picking up her pen again. “Let’s break those down a little bit. What about this morning frustrated you?” 

Bucky gave a dry chuckle. It was a long story. “Before the war, World War II, to the Cold War of the one happening right now in the Middle East,” he hated that he had to clarify that, it was so odd, “Back before Steve had taken the serum, he used to have asthma attacks. There was one horrible one, he’d gotten into some stupid fight over nothing, and the cold air triggered an attack. Eventually, I got him to sit down and I had to talk him through it. I told him to breathe in and out, I put my hand on his shoulder and breathed with him, telling him when to breathe in and when to breathe out. I had to tell him that it was going to be alright, that he was okay. After he started to breathe normally, He-ah, he got upset because he was frustrated with his body, that he had to rely so much on me. 

“How does this relate to this morning?” she asked. 

“The same thing happened this morning, except it was me having a panic attack, and Steve walking me through it. Afterwards I- I cried because I used to be the one who took care of Steve, and now I can’t even get through the morning without losing it.” 

“You don’t cry often,” his therapist noted. 

“No, I don’t,” he replied. It was true, to a point. It was a display of emotion that he still wasn’t comfortable with. It made him feel vulnerable, and made part of him feel like he should expect punishment for it. Plus, he normally expressed emotions as anger, not as sadness. After a while, Dr Newmark broke the silence, “You also felt afraid?” she asked. 

“Yeah, Afraid that I was going to lose control and become the asset I’m always afraid that I’ll lose control.” 

“When was the last time you actually lost control?” she asked. He knew that she already knew but this was some stupid exercise. 

“Last week,” he replied, “Well, there have been little moments, but last week was the last time I completely lost control to the asset.” Why did you lose control last week?” she asked. Yep, definitely some stupid exercise. 

“Because I pushed myself too far,” he mumbled, still ashamed of what had happened. 

“That’s right, the last time you lost control was because you pushed yourself too hard, it wasn’t caused by something small, it was caused by something very big. And you came back, didn’t you? You managed to return to yourself again?” He nodded, “You know that if you are ever triggered to become the asset again, you will live through it and come back eventually.” 

“That’s not what I’m afraid of, not really” he said,” I’m afraid that I’m going to lose control and hurt someone.” 

“James, don’t you think that if we thought you were going to hurt someone, we would have kept you in the hospital? We released you because we believe that you aren’t going to hurt anyone.” 

“But I’m not allowed to leave the tower,” he stated, “If you thought I wasn’t going to hurt someone you’d let me into the public.” 

She gave him a weak smile, “I guess you’re partially right. I don’t think that you’re ready to handle the outside world alone, by yourself, without hurting someone or hurting yourself. But I know that where you are right now, you are not going to hurt anyone. And I know that eventually, you will be able to handle going out into the public without hurting anyone, but that might be a while, James.” 

Bucky sighed and looked out the window behind Dr Newmark, “You mentioned that you also felt discouraged?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I just feel like I work so hard, and like I’ve come so far, then something like this happens and I feel like I’m back where I started.” 

“When was the last time you had a panic attack that was this bad?” She asked. 

Bucky thought about it, “Maybe last week, the week before it.” 

“I don’t know if you remember when you first came to the hospital, you were on some pretty heavy medications, but you would have moments where you were yourself, and you almost always had a panic attack when those happened. Maybe 2-3 times a day and you were taking heavier sedatives back then. Now, you’re taking a less powerful sedative at a smaller dose, and you have one panic attack a week. I think that’s progress.” 

“I guess,” Bucky shrugged. 

“I never thought you would make it as far as you have,” she said, “When you first got assigned to me, you were mostly non-verbal, and when you did speak it was almost always in Russian. You had these violent flashbacks and panic attacks every hour. It took you 2 weeks before you made it through a day without landing yourself in restraints or solitary, and another 2 before you were even mildly functional.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he muttered. 

“See? Now you make jokes, Steve said you even laughed the other day. You are nowhere near where you started,” she said. 

“How often do you talk to Steve?” Bucky asked, wanting to change the topic of conversation. He didn’t want to talk about what he used to be like. 

“We usually have an hour session once a week,” she replied, watching his expression, “He’s able to shed some more light on what’s going on with you. He tells me things that you don’t.” 

“Like what?” he asked, curious now. 

She sighed, “He tells me about little things mostly, things that trigger flashbacks or automatic responses, like the ding of the elevator. He also tells me things that show how far you’ve come, like how you slept through the night for the first time last week. Sometimes he tells me about bigger things.” Bucky nodded, still looking out the window. It had mesh in the glass and bars on the outside, both there to keep people in. 

“Aren’t you going to ask what bigger things he’s told me?” she asked. 

Bucky shrugged, “I can probably guess what they are. It’s all stuff I don’t want to talk about.” 

“Why don’t you want to talk about them?” 

He shrugged again. Of course he knew why he didn’t want to talk about some things, but he knew his reasoning was irrational. There were things that he did that were embarrassing and his therapist and Steve knew about most of them, but there were certain things that just made him feel vulnerable and powerless. Things that he didn’t want to admit happened to him. “I just don’t,” he replied. 

“I’m not going to make you talk about anything that you don’t want to but I think that if you don’t want to talk about something, it’s extremely important that we talk about it,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. 

Bucky knew she was right. If he wanted to hide it, it was probably something important, something that they should talk about. That didn’t make it any easier for him to talk about it, “He’s told you about the sleep stuff,” Bucky said. 

She nodded, “He has. Do you want to be more specific?” 

“No, but you want me to,” he replied, “He’s told you that I still have night terrors.” 

“Yes, he has,” she said, “We talk about your dreams and your nightmares, why didn’t you want to bring up your night terrors?” 

“Because they’re embarrassing. It’s something that happens to little kids, not to adults,” he hesitated before continuing, “It’s like, HYDRA had such an effect on me that they’ve turned me into this terrified little child.” 

“Is there anything else that makes you feel like you’re a child?” she asked. 

“When people treat me like I’m not in charge of myself. There’s a voice that Steve uses when he talks to me that he also uses when he’s talking to kids. And there’s the other thing. One of the things that I think Steve told you about.” 

“Which thing?” she asked, gently pushing him. 

“That I, um, that sometimes I,” he exhaled and closed his eyes, “That I wet the bed.” 

“That was hard for you to admit,” she noted. 

“It’s humiliating,” he stated, “And it’s just one more thing that I don’t have control over.” 

“I can see how you would feel that way, and it does happen. It happens to 1/100 adults and most people think it’s under reported. Plus most of those 1/100 people haven’t been through a severe trauma like you have.” 

“I know, Steve’s told me before,” he replied dryly. It seemed like everyone always excused his behavior because ‘he’d been through a severe trauma’. It didn’t make him feel any better when they said that, instead it only served to remind him that most people hadn’t been through what he had. That he had been unlucky enough to be taken by HYDRA. 

“You don’t seem pleased,” she noted. 

“I’m not a fan of statistics,” he said simply. 

“Is that all?” 

“People tell me statistics all the time, like they’re going to solve all my problems. 60% of people experience trauma, 8% of the population experiences PTSD, and those numbers almost double when you’re a veteran, more than 1/10 people take anti-depressants,” he listed, “I’m an outlier, I’m not the person that those statistics are about. There was one person who Zola injected with his mutated serum, there was one person who HYDRA brainwashed and kept frozen until they needed him. There was only one Winter Soldier. Those are the statistics that are about me.” 

“You’re not the winter soldier, James. The winter soldier was who HYDRA turned you into,” she replied. 

“Then why do I have all his memories? Why do I have his habits, and his training? Why do I remember all of the people that he’s killed?” his voice was raising now as he started to get angry. 

Dr Newmark hesitated for a moment, “I can’t answer those questions,” she replied. 

“Because I am the winter soldier!” He yelled, slamming his hand down on the armrest of the chair he was sitting in. Dr Newmark’s hand instinctively went to the button he knew was concealed under her desk. The one that would call security. He was breathing heavily now, and he wanted to yell, scream, and tear things apart. 

“James, I need you to calm down or I’ll have to have security come in,” she said. He knew that wasn’t a rule that applied to all patients, just one that he had because he was dangerous and lost control so easily. He shut his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control. It was easier than it had been this morning what with the sedatives in his system but it still took him a lot of effort. Before long he managed to get his anger under control and opened his eyes. Dr Newmark had shut his folder and set it down on her desk, “Here’s what I’m thinking,” she said, leaning against her desk, “We had an extra half an hour session last week after the incident, so I think we can shorten our session today.” 

Bucky nodded, he could still feel the effects of the drugs and he felt emotionally drained from the therapy session. Normally they didn’t talk about as much as they had today and if they did, they didn’t walk about things that were hard for him to talk about like panic attacks or his lack of control. She gave him a weak smile and opened the door, motioning for Steve to come over to here, “I don’t think he can handle much more today,” she said quietly, “He’s drowsy from the medication and I think that’s made him more worn out. If we keep talking I’m afraid he’s going to regress.” 

Of course Bucky heard this all, he almost always heard things that people said when they thought he was out of earshot. Steve nodded, “Okay,” Steve replied quietly before turning to Bucky, “You ready to go?” he asked. 

Bucky sighed and got out of his chair. Without saying anything, he followed Steve (and his armed guard) out to the car.

**Author's Note:**

> [ There are ](http://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/PTSD-overview/basics/how-common-is-ptsd.asp) [ links to ](http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/night-terrors/basics/definition/con-20032552) [ my research ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Complex_post-traumatic_stress_disorder#Adults)[ and stuff ](http://www.drugs.com/dosage/alprazolam.html)
> 
> I also wrote while listening to[ this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEFxfVyz4Uc&index=2&list=RDB7Y5tn1i0_k), and that's where the title came from.


End file.
